The Taste of Absinthe
by illyna
Summary: Of Liquor and Lace - Out of Hours. A place for my slightly more risqué Haymitch and Effie drabbles and snippets.
1. Never

**Never**

Purple - shockingly neon bright sears at his retinas as Haymitch attempts to open his eyes. His head pounds like so many drums – last night must have been a doozy. He extends a hand to get the offensive assault away from his face. It's soft, and warm, and... hairy?

His vision clears to reveal a woman on her side, facing away from him. She's wearing a lilac wig and absolutely nothing else.

Shit. Shit. Where is he? This isn't his room. It's too clean and tidy and there are far, far too many clothes. Spotting a discarded whisky bottle on the bedside table it grabs at it and takes a big swallow. Dutch courage.

Bits and pieces from the night before surface; copious amounts of absinthe; going out into the Capitol with Chaff; a terrible club. Wait no, he remembers coming back to the penthouse. Effie was just getting back from her night out as well - they rode the lift up together. Had a nightcap - more absinthe. He closes his eyes, covers his mouth... There was kissing.

Fuck. That's just fucking great. He aims a vicious kick at the bed frame and hurts his toe in the process. The strike wakes his bed mate.

Effie rubs at her eyes, still drowsy and confused. Most of her make-up has been smeared on the bedsheets and the purple wig has slipped to one side. She looks an adorable wreck for such a uptight bitch.

Haymitch looks around for his clothes and spots his pants half under the bed, tangled around something black and lacy. Grinding his teeth in an effort to stay calm he picks up the bra and throws it at Effie. She sits up, silk sheet wrapped around her, and looks at it dazedly.

"Uh, good morning." Her voice is raspy, and Haymitch vaguely recollects her screaming his name.

He glares at her. "This never happened. Do you hear me, Princess? THIS. NEVER. HAPPENED."

Effie returns his look levelly – she's taking this a lot better than he though she would. She acquiesces with a nod. "Agreed."

Fumbling to pull on his trousers, he looks around for his shirt. Where is his bloody shirt? No matter, he can get another from his room. He heads for escape.

"Haymitch...?" Her ridiculous accent pulls his name over several syllables. His hand freezes on the door handle.

"What?" His response is terse. He glances back over his shoulder just as Effie stretches, arms thrown back and over her head. The sheet falls down to her waist.

Holy hell she has fantastic tits.

"I have some free time in my schedule this morning." Half naked, biting at her bottom lip, her blue eyes roam freely over him.

"You... what?" He splutters. She can't have meant that the way it sounded. "Excuse me?"

"If you wanted to... fill it, I mean."

A feral smile appears. She looks hungry, like a cat toying with her prey before ripping its head off. He backs up, the door bumping him in the back.

"This is highly... uh...improper?"

"Not if it never happened. Which it did not. So it might as well never happen some more. A lady does have needs, you know."

With feline grace she slides out of the bed and sways towards him, pulling off the purple wig in the process. Her real hair is short and strawberry blonde and he can't stop staring at it. Naked and unashamed she leans up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss against his lips. Her nails skim a path down his stomach towards the top button of his jeans, and lust squirms deep in his abdomen.

He just stands there a moment, slack jawed, not quite sure that he's sober enough to properly process what is going on. Effie heads off towards the bathroom. He can hear water running. A finger beckons and he follows despite himself.

"Be a sweetheart and lock that door before you come through, would you?"

He does as he's told.

"This definitely never happened?" He captures both of her tiny wrists in one hand and pulls her close. Her bare skin writhes next to him in a most delicious manner. She smiles wickedly and pulls him down for a kiss.

"Never."

* * *

**_Hayffie Fanworks Challenge prompt #60 – He woke up in the wrong bed._**


	2. Dream

**Dream**

Slumped against the headboard, Haymitch sways gently with the motion of the train, taking occasional swigs from the bottle of liquor threaded between his fingers. Quiet murmurs spill from the radio turned on low in the corner. Sound is company on nights like these and he finds it useful to be appraised of the latest Capitol craziness; forewarned is forearmed. Muted light spills in from the sash window, blinds pulled back, as he watches the countryside slide by under a blanket of stars. By morning they will be in the city and there will be no more peace.

Gentle tapping, and then his door cracks open. Effie Trinket is all shadow and silence as she steals into his room. Vaguely he makes out that she is wrapped in a short robe with her face clear and her short hair mussed by sleep. His lips curve; he likes seeing Effie stripped bare – so to speak.

"Haymitch, are you awake?" She whispers. He grunts affirmative and she tiptoes closer. "Where is your knife?"

Startled, he sets his bottle down and grabs his blade from under the pillow. "What's going on? Why are you here? Is something wrong?"

Approaching him warily she takes the knife away and places it on the far side of the bedside table. The mattress dips as she kneels down beside him, her warm breaths whispering past his ear.

"I did not want to get hurt."

She shifts and straddles him. Hips rock in a most deliberate fashion and he is immediately wide awake. Effie moves his hands to her bare thighs and urges them upwards. Reaching for her robe, she fumbles with the belt. Underneath she is naked, save for a long golden chain reaching from her neck to her navel.

"Eff, is this never happening as well?"

She slides the silk down over her shoulders drenching her pale skin in moonlight. Deft fingers start their work on his shirt buttons. "No, I think this might be a dream."

Pulling her to him, Haymitch plunders her mouth with his tongue; urgent kisses tasting like star anise and salt. She grinds against him possessively, fingernails skittering down his chest. He groans deep in his throat and tries to push her away.

Freezing, she moves her lips from the assault on his mouth and mumbles against his cheek. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Hell no, I just..." He gestures to his pants.

She scoots to one side as he tears at the zip on his trousers. Her fingers stroke him through the thin fabric; hot damn she knows how to make him crazy. He wants to be inside her badly. The rest of his clothes follow suit quickly. Once he is naked Effie climbs back onto his lap, wet and ready -she wants this just as much as he does. One easy stroke and he's there.

Fuck, this feels good. She begins a slow rhythm, the delicious friction building between them. He reaches up to grope at her breasts and she throws her head back, arching to give him more purchase.

"Yes... just like that." Her words come out as a growl as she bucks against him hard.

It does not last long and they come within seconds of each other; the sweet clench and then the welcome release overwhelming them both. Effie falls forward onto Haymitch panting heavily. She nuzzles into the crook of his neck, sweat sticking soft strands of hair to his face. He loosely wraps his arm around her; he can feel her heart pounding an erratic tattoo against him.

There is a dampness on his shoulder. His palm comes away wet when he reaches to touch her face. Puzzled, he repeats his earlier question; "Is something wrong?"

"No. I had a nightmare before, that is all. I could not get back to sleep. I needed..." She pauses. "I thought that some exercise might help." A smile automatically springs back to her lips before she kisses his fingers. "I hope you do not mind that I took advantage of you?"

She rolls away from Haymitch and covers herself with the discarded robe, attempts to smooth her errant hair with a hand.

"Best damn dream I've ever had, Princess." He stretches, satisfied and drowsy – now even he might sleep tonight.

He ignores the fact that she is still crying as she leaves the room.

* * *

**_Hayffie Fanworks Challenge Prompt # 89 - Dreams_**


	3. The Hand that Feeds

**The Hand that Feeds**

_**'**__****__**coz you do what you're told - but inside your heart - it's black and it's hollow - and it's cold **_

Effie is still out shopping when an Avox delivers a gigantic box, a bottle of pink champagne and a large bunch of red roses to the Penthouse. Haymitch accepts the presents curiously, ripping the box open and shredding the tissue scraps of red lace nestle safely inside. He lifts the tiny garter belt with one fingertip and his mind goes into overdrive. There is a matching silk frock – designer and slashed to the navel to allow generous amounts of cleavage - he imagines Effie in the get up and his pants grow uncomfortably tight. Placing the gifts on the coffee table Haymitch goes in search of a corkscrew for the champagne. Pink it may be, but it is still alcohol.

Half the bottle is gone by the time Effie returns.

"I'd like to see you in this, Princess." He leers - wineglass in one hand, skimpy scarlet thong dangling from the other.

Her reaction is not what he expects – she doesn't explode and stamp her perfectly pedicured feet; doesn't squeal or berate him. Her blank stare is unnerving. She snatches the underwear from his hands, grabs the box and heads directly to her room at the back of the penthouse.

He trails her in like a puppy. "C'mon, Eff, don't be like that; I'll be gone by tomorrow. Is it 'cause I drank the booze from your beau? You got some flowers too." He waves the now bedraggled roses at her. A card falls to the floor, and he grabs at it curiously.

___Can't wait to see you in these later, my darling. - Royston x_

Astonished, he stares at Effie. Sitting at the dark wood vanity, she is methodically stripping off all her make-up, discarded colours strewn across the counter. She doesn't look at him.

"You're fucking Royston Merle?" Mirth bubbles inside him. "Royston… the hog? Holy shit Eff, I know you're desperate to climb the social ladder but can you actually get to his cock through all that blubber? You'd better be careful he doesn't eat you by accident… or is that it? That he does? Eat you that is. Ha!"

Haymitch isn't quite sure why he's laughing quite so hard - the thought of Effie with the obese businessman makes him nauseated.

Once Effie has finished removing her wig she gets up and aggressively pushes him towards the door. All of the muscles are tight in her face; blue eyes damp and miserable.

"It is not like I have a choice." Her voice is thick and controlled. "You know nothing, Haymitch Abernathy."

She locks the door behind her.

* * *

He slumps on the couch, taking sips from the magnum of champagne, waiting for Effie to come out. Idiot, he tells himself over and over. Stupid bloody idiot. Effie is owned by the Games just as much as he is. Her life is the Games. He's seen her cover her mouth in terror when speaking out of turn, scared that someone would rip the tongue from her head. He's heard the rumours about the trade in flesh – good money for a fuck with a victor. Why wouldn't they use one of their own for gain?

Breathtaking in red - Effie emerges. Her wig is black and severe. She looks like a delicate porcelain doll, right down to the glassy deadness in her eyes.

"Eff, I'm so fucking sorry… I didn't realise. I wouldn't have said those things…"

The grimace she bestows upon him is pained. Taking the almost empty bottle from him, she rummages in her small clutch bag and removes a phial of pills. She swallows several down with the last of the champagne.

Perched beside him, she rests heavily against his shoulder. Long nails scratch gently at the stubble on his cheek.

"You protect me somewhat, Haymitch, do you know that? When you are here I never get called upon for service. Nobody else wants to deal with your antics. My very own knight in moonshine." She presses her lips together, worried she has said too much.

He removes her hand from his face and wraps it in both of his own. Her pupils are tiny pinpricks; whatever she dosed herself with is working. He hopes it helps.

Buzzing signifies her lift has arrived. She rises gracefully and fusses with the obscene dress, trying to cover more of her body. She heads towards the elevator.

"Effie? Who do they have over you?"

"My brother."

She leaves.

* * *

He is still lazing on the sofa watching a shopping channel when she returns the next morning. She stares at him as if he is a mirage.

"You are still here." She states. She is exhausted, dark circles matching the blackness of her hairpiece, barely balanced on the ridiculous heels. She bolts to the bedroom.

Water starts running – a bath, Haymitch can smell the sweet bubbles. Effie reappears swaddled in a giant terry-cloth robe, a massive pair of woollen bedsocks covering her feet. Her arms are full of red material – the dress and negligee from the night before. She stuffs the lot into the waste disposal and turns it on without pause.

Climbing into the armchair next to him, she is tiny and stinks of cologne. Haymitch can see stubble burn all over the pale skin of her chest. She gazes listlessly at the screen – they're selling diamond necklaces.

"That's pretty," she states absently.

He pours her a shot of green liquor – her fingers are frozen as she takes the glass. She downs it in one savage gulp. He nudges the rest of the Absinthe toward her.

"You keep this Eff. I think you need it more."

She pours herself another, larger helping. "You are leaving today." It is not a question – Effie knows his schedule better than he does. She rises and heads towards the bathroom to scrub herself clean.

"I'll see you next year?" Haymitch says.

"Yes, of course." She grants him a rare real smile.

Just before she disappears he calls to her; "Princess, what's your brother's name?"

"Corbin."

* * *

**_Reviews are love. Lyrics at the top are from "The Hand that Feeds" by NiN. Thanks, illy x_**


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